Confessions of a (Not So )Domestic Diva

On Seven January 17, 2008

Miss Lyss will be eight in March. She’s looking forward to this birthday as much as she has all the others, because eight is so much closer to thirteen, which is so much closer to being a TEENAGER. Teenager is always said in all caps, with a reverence some use for prayer. And I have to stop and do a double check that she isn’t already a teenager, because she sure acts like one sometimes. Already she sighs, rolls her eyes and has that tone. You know, that “oh my God, you have no idea just how tough it is dealing with your dumb ass, Mom” tone.

I’ve enjoyed her being seven. Second grade has given her a little more individuality, and she’s found her niche in school I think. Miss Lyss is a Brain. But a Brain with style. She’s started developing her own taste in clothes (actual taste, not the former “if it’s shiny or neon, I’ll wear it” of years past), books, and music. She’s on the Hannah Montana bandwagon, as well as the High School Musical (both of them) kick. The latter comes from her early love of Grease, passed down by me. We share a love of music and musicals, me and my long legged girl. We share a lot, really, but her personality outshines mine in so many ways. She’s far from shy and introverted; she’ll befriend anyone and talk to everyone. She’s still sort of in the stage of wanting to be just like me, but that’s passing. Too fast, that’s passing.

Seven, for me, will be remembered as the year of the Talk. Or at least parts of it. She had a lot of questions after the baby came, naturally. Miss Lyss has a lot of questions about everything; the kid absorbs knowledge like nothing I’ve ever seen. She wants to know it all, in detail, right this second. So she wanted to know about the baby, and why her friend’s mommy’s baby did not come out of her belly like ours did. I attempted to explain it away with vaguely telling her I had to have a C-section, which is an operation, because some babies come that way. She nodded and I thought I was home free. A pause, then…

… “Where do the rest of them come out?”

As awful as it sounds, I was half tempted (in my unpreparedness and desperation) to tell her I simply didn’t know. No clue, sorry kid, see ya later. But I’ve always said that I would answer my kids’ questions openly and honestly. I didn’t have that openness with my own mom, and I remember some of the questions I had and didn’t always get the answers to.

So I took a deep breath and attempted to fumble my way through an explanation that would be non-graphic, not scary and yet informative. Which led to “ok, so how did she get in there?” Again, more fumbling.

Her reactions were priceless though. “Why would anyone want to do that anyway? Gross!” My exact thought when I first learned the mechanics of it all.

My reaction? The exact same as my own mother’s: “Remember that in ten years or so, kid.”

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Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered….

So we’ve been watching American Idol. **sigh** I can’t seem to get away from it, and I’m not really sure what prompts me, or Jim (handsomely bearded husband) to plop down four hours of our week to see some good, more mediocre, very few super talented, and hundreds upon hundreds of train wrecks. But, we do it. And we are not alone.

But, I digress (as usual). Tuesday we were watching, and a woman named Beth popped in and sang some Sinatra. Beth is 28 ( I think??) and there was just something, something besides her age and that particular song that opened my mouth. (Beth is going to Hollywood, by the way. Yay Beth!)
I wandered back into the room and leaned against the couch for a second. “Wonder if she’s one of us?” I said more to myself than to Jim. “Us” meaning the women of my age group that not only grew up on a little group called New Kids on the Block (cue memories of screaming tweenys and flying panties), but still purchase solo albums from any of the ex members with their own thing going on.

The reason I asked this was because of “Talk To Me”, the latest solo from Joe McIntyre, the baby blued cutie that made me (and eight hundred thousand other girls) shriek at levels only small children and animals can hear. TTM is a tribute to Mr. McIntyre’s own all time fave, Old Blue Eyes himself Frank Sinatra. And “Bewitched” is on that album. So it seemed reasonable to wonder if that was where Beth’s song came from. Not that I’ll ever know, but it was interesting. (To me.)

The boy band rage has slowly been coming alive in our house these days, anyway. My 7 year old is slowly sinking into the craze with the Jonas Brothers. I recognize the glazed look she gets in her eyes. I recognize it and pray that there is no merchandising for these Brothers- my parents probably spent a small fortune on all of the NKOTB paraphernalia I had to acquire (or DIE! just DIE!! without it!!) and could probably very well have retired to Aruba or something, had I not needed that last hot pink slap bracelet. But I did need it, dammit, just as I’m certain Miss Lyss will need whatever version of little girl eye candy comes from this. And who am I to begrudge her? I still have everything New Kids packed away, and I still smile a little when Radio Disney plays The Right Stuff. I will embrace my daughter’s boy band love and have my own walk down memory lane as I do it. Too bad none of ’em have those pretty blue eyes, though….

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